


Dolor Cordis (a 15x19 rewrite)

by g33kg1rl



Series: Eternal [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19 rewrite, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Prison, Archangel Michael also deserved better, Archangel Michael talks with Jack, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Chuck Shurley does become the big bad, Creation Myth, Dean Winchester Pines Over Castiel, Dean Winchester Realizes Feelings For Castiel, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dean Winchester, I get it now, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Religious Discussion, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, So I gave him a pet, Sort Of, The Empty (Supernatural), The Empty | The Shadow Being an Asshole (Supernatural), What Was I Thinking?, What-If, challenging myself to write a whole story in less than 4 days, fight me, it was a failure from the start, last minute hope, really though this was just to figure out how 19 could be such a screw up, rewrote to try and understand the stupid episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kg1rl/pseuds/g33kg1rl
Summary: Dean deals with the fallout of Castiel's sacrifice, and he's not handling it well. Sam is trying to be the backbone and keep everything together, while Jack has questions about life, the universe, and Daphne. The boys are dealing with a dead planet, lost and in pain with absolutely no hope of fixing this mess. But this is Team Free Will. If they can't find a solution, they'll make one.Reworking the 15x19 season finale of Supernatural, either to fill in the missing pieces that I felt was left out of the episode, or straight up rewriting portions of it because the episode needed something more (like foreshadowing).Originally posted as chapter 2 and 3 of 'Eternal' (author realized it needed to be its own separate 'episode' because Eternal was a character study.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Eternal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019734
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	1. Dolor Cordis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting such overwhelming love I got for Eternal. Thank you so much. So in thanks, here's a crappy second continuation to re-write 19 the way I was actually expecting it to end; because nothing says "thank you for all your love and support!" like deciding I need to kill myself and write three chapters in four days while working a full-time job, and posting first drafts that suck balls. Love you all! Thank you for all the kudos and reviews! This fandom seriously is the best.

_Dolor Cordis = Latin - Noun(1) intense sorrow caused by loss of a loved one (especially by death)_

//

The drive meandered for days. Following Jack’s ‘feeling’ was a shit way to travel, but at least they didn’t have to worry about speed limits, cops, or other fucking drivers on the roads. No. But they did have to worry about the god-damned interstates being covered with abandoned cars littering the lanes or along the shoulders. It felt like they were wandering aimlessly in a zombie apocalypse minus the zombies. But, Jack had a direction, Dean had a near infinite knowledge of every back-road and single lane highway in the US that got them through the pileups, and Sam had satellite Internet so he could do research even as they drove. 

A week later, Jack’s ‘feeling’ had them pulling up to a church without a sound but the Impala’s engine rumbling in the deathly silence of the world, and the trio climbing out to see what convinced the kid they weren’t alone.

Michael. It was goddamn Michael the archangel. 

"You drag us out here to kill us?" Dean barked, gun drawn even though he knew how useless it was.

Michael clenched his fists, "No. I've been... reading, studying. I'm..." He hesitated, a hand pressed to his chest, rubbing, his face twisting up as he looked away. 

Dean lowered his gun, shooting Sam a look. "You, uh, doing okay there, Mikey?"

"He took Adam." Michael's voice actually cracked, brows drawn up, eyes lost. There may not have been tears in his eyes, but damn, Dean knew that look. He saw it in the mirror every morning.

"Adam? He's... dead?"

Michael nodded, rubbing at his chest. "I couldn't hold onto him. I... tried. But, Father, he dragged him away from me like smoke. He's locked me out of heaven, I can't see him...." his gaze went distant, like he was truly lost without Adam sharing his head space. 

Dean had never seen an angel other than Cass act like this toward humanity. The camaraderie they had built while in hell, the attachment Michael had developed was so strange and unique. He treated Adam the way Dean had thought angels should treat their vessels back twelve years ago. Though angels tended not to kill the souls in their vessels the way demons did when they jumped a human, the angels had so little regard to the fact they were whisking humans away from their lives, from their families, it only added to the hatred Dean felt toward the angels over the years. Cass had at least cared for Jimmy. Now Michael, so lost without Adam... Dean actually felt sorry for the poor bastard. 

"Why did you call us?"

Michael focused back on them, blinking a few times to catch himself back up. "My Father has..."

"Gone bat shit crazy?" 

Sam gave him bitch-face number twelve. Dean ignored him.

Michael sighed, "In a manner of speaking, yes." 

"And?" Dean holstered his gun, waiting. 

Michael met his gaze, so regal while looking like a construction crew reject. "I want to help you stop my Father."

Well, shit. Seriously? 

With so few allies—or living beings anywhere—Dean swallowed the hatchet and agreed to take the angel home with them. For a split second on the drive home with Jack in the backseat and Michael at his side, he could pretend it was Cass. For a split second, he could pretend everything was all right. Then the second ended and Dean turned the speakers up, gripped the wheel tight, and drove a little faster to outrun reality. 

“All the lore says to kill a god we need hemlock and lamb’s blood. We got those back at the bunker.” Dean said, three hours into their drive home. 

Sam sighed, shaking his head, “Dean, that’s for pagan gods. This is… like… God-god.”

“But remember way back when Lucifer was let out the first time and the gods were holding that convention at the hotel? They said they were here first, right? Dean said, looking to Sam then shooting Michael a look in the mirror. “So, who was it? Who was first?”

Michael frowned. “According to their lore, they believe they were first. According to my understanding, Father created the entire universe, not just a single world, but the known expanding universe. Father created everything from the beginning of time. If the pagan gods believe they created the world, it first had to start from something, correct? Perhaps, after my Father created the world, if these gods were born from the blast of the Big Bang, then I suppose you could say they were here at the creation of the world. But that is their mythos, not mine.”

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “So, in other words, we still have bupkiss.”

Sam twisted in his seat, looking back at Michael. “Not necessarily. Could these gods still be here? Could they have escaped Chuck’s ending?”

Michael tilted his head, considering the question, and nodded, “I suppose they could have.”

“Would they be able to fight against Chuck?”

Michael frowned, hesitating. 

But Dean remembered all to clearly how easily Lucifer had destroyed the gods in that hotel. If that was just an archangel, Chuck probably made them disappear with just a snap of his fingers already. 

“Perhaps, but no, I don’t think they would be able to stop him.”

Dean tapped a thumb against the steering wheel, then shifted, opening his mouth, paused then smirked, circling back to something Michael said. “But you’re not sure Chuck was the only god alive at the Big Bang, right? What if one of the creation myths out there could give us a clue as to another God, capital G, who is out there and could stand up against Chuck?”

Sam’s face twisted into that momentarily impressed expression. He nodded, eyes gazing off on the horizon while his big brain was mulling that over. Michael nodded, humming. “Perhaps. After everything I’ve read about Father and this narrative he created, I can’t say I would put it past him to omit the truths hidden in the rest of the universe.”

“All right. Awesome.” Dean smiled, arching his back and feeling a few bones crackle. "This is good. We got ourselves a plan." He pushed down on the gas a little harder. The sooner they ended Chuck, the sooner they could focus on what was truly important.

//

“I’ve got nothing.” Dean shoved the books aside and leaned back in his chair, hands over his face and groaning. Three days. Three days of scouring every lore, every mythos, every creation myth and end-of-days account known to mankind. Gods died in mythology all the time, but other than other gods chopping bodies apart to kill their brothers, the only account Dean had run across that seemed mundane was when Loki used mistletoe to kill Baldur. Makes him wonder what Baldur did to Gabriel to make him hate the dude so much. Let alone, Baldur didn’t stay dead seeing as how he met the poor bastard before Lucifer impaled him. 

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He tapped his thumbs on the table, “I’m coming up with jack as well.”

Jack frowned, brows furrowing, “I found several stories about the world starting from an egg.” 

Dean rolled his head to the side to glare at Jack, rolling his eyes as the kid looked up with such earnest hope that it might help. “Awesome. We’ll just egg God.” He rubbed his brow, needing a drink. Another drink. He felt like he could feel the alcohol leaving his system and the pain was returning when all he wanted was to be numb. 

“I’m starting to think there isn’t a way to kill God, let alone the minor gods; not really anyway. They all have resurrection myths that go hand-in-hand with any death we do read about.” Sam leaned back in his seat. 

Nodding, Dean closed his eyes again with that revelation. He shoved himself away from the table and stood, focusing on not stumbling and covering it with a stretch and groan. He dragged his beer after him, tipping his head back and swallowing down the last of the dredges. “I’m gonna get a drink.” He left, rubbing an eye, doing everything in his power to not look at Sam or even Michael as he shuffled out of the room, making a beeline for the kitchen where the beer was, but more importantly, where he had hid a bottle of whiskey behind the bags of flour. 

He jerked the cabinets open and fumbled the bottle out, twisting the cap and dropping it to the floor with shaking fingers. He tipped his head back and drank, swallowing down three shots in one breath before the burning in his throat clenched and he choked, coughing against the liquor and feeling it dribble down his chin. He bowed his head, wrist to his mouth as he swallowed, sputtering another cough, then took another mouthful, hoping the burn down his raw throat would squash the burning behind his eyes.

The world was fucked. There was no way to kill Chuck. He could see it now. Even if they did stumble upon something, this was Chuck’s narrative. There wasn’t a single thing they could do and he and Sam were going to wither away on an empty planet with a pissed off archangel with daddy issues, a nephilim who just got his soul back and was too pure for their sorry jaded asses, and Cass…

Dean raised the bottle to his mouth, pausing, panting for air, his brow twisting up as the heat in his eyes burned a little hotter. 

He dropped his hand, the whiskey sloshing in the bottle, and he bowed his head, a choked sob escaping him. 

This was it. The end of the world, and he was helpless to even die with the rest. 

He leaned on the counter, doing everything he could to stifle the noises rising up in his throat, and he wiped at his face, fisting the whiskey. Taking another drink, and another, hands shaking, Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat, the warm fuzz of the liquor finally numbing his brain just a bit more than before, leaving him floating hovering in that in-between of functioning and nearly drunk. He raised the bottle, hesitating for just a split second, but he could hear him in his head, that quavering in his voice, and he took another drink. 

Sniffing, wiping his cheeks, raising his face to the ceiling, Dean just tried to breathe, tried to claw his way out of the depression of failing the world. 

But that voice, that wet smile… Dean wiped his face for the thousandth time and coughed, clearing his throat, shoving his battle armor back on so he could go back out there and research, but this time, fuck Chuck. It was pointless, so why bother? But Cass? He could search for him. That, that was something he could do; it was something he wanted. 

Nodding, fingers shaking as he hesitantly twisted the cap back on the whiskey, Dean’s throat bobbed, and he stashed the whiskey back behind the flour, shutting the cabinets and leaning on them, tense, desperate to just keep drinking till he couldn’t feel anymore; instead, he focused on each breath to convince himself to keep it together till Sam went to bed. 

Just till bedtime.

//

Jack frowned at the latest mythos, tilting his head as he considered the divine twins creation myths from Proto-Indo-European lore. It was interesting how it did fit despite it being a brother-sister twin story with Chuck and Amara and not two male siblings. He turned the page, reading about the horse imagery that often accompanied such myths. 

He had just worked his way through the Ex Nihilo (out of nothing) creation myths, and the World Parent myths, which that in itself described Amara and Chuck far better seeing as how they separated and the Big Bang happened thus creating life. 

Setting the book down in his lap, Jack frowned at the pages, his head mush and his emotions threadbare. He didn’t know what he could possibly do. The one thing he could have done, Sam had talked him out of it, and it resulted in him being useless once more. Powerless, unskilled… 

Michael stepped into the records room, pausing as he saw him and the two stared at one another.

Jack forced a smile and raised his hand, “Hello.” 

The archangel tilted his head at him, studying him in a way that Jack wondered if there was something on his face. 

“Hey, kid. You doing okay?” Michael walked across the room, replacing the book he had been reading on the shelf and taking the next one in line. 

“As well as can be expected. I hope that we will find something soon.” He held his smile, his stomach twisting. 

Michael frowned, tapping the book against his thigh and held his gaze. The longer he stared the smaller Jack’s smile became till he felt like a pit opened in his chest and he dropped his gaze, fingering the page of the book in his lap. 

“You know,” Michael joined him, sitting beside him as he looked at the page Jack was on. “If—”

“I find creation myths fascinating.” Jack said, latching onto the first thing that came to mind. “There is a little bit of truth in them all. No matter how fantastical, I can see the truth in each one. No culture or religion is entirely correct or entirely wrong. It’s like the truth was split up into thousands of little pieces, and no matter where the pieces fell all those cultures have a piece of divine truth. Why do people fight about who is right and wrong?”

Michael stared at his hands between his knees, his thumb tapping the book. “I don’t know, kid. That is one thing that is very hard for angels to understand. We have perfect knowledge of what happened. Some of the older angels, like myself, we were there as our Father created the world. We watched him smash rocks together in the ether of space, watched fire and ice coat that spinning rock as it hurdled through space, and we watched as our Father touched it, creating life. It’s a simple answer, but humans, they always ask questions, wanting to know every detail. A simple answer is never enough. Humanity always ask ‘how?’ and ‘why?’ It’s a frustrating truth about humanity.”

"Oh..." Jack fingered the pages of the book in his lap, a frown pushing his mouth down, his chest feeling tight. “Is that... is that why the angels hate humanity? Is that why Lucifer… my father… wanted to destroy the earth? Is it why Chuck took everyone away? Because humans never just accept what they are told, or do what they are supposed to do?” He blinked quickly, feeling his eyes turning red with tears, and moisture building in the corners of his eyes. “Is that why Castiel was hated? Because he wasn’t a good angel?” 

Michael sat quietly beside him, head tilted in thought, and jaw tight. He sighed and looked to him, and Jack raised his wet eyes, heart stuttering. 

“Honestly, kid, in all my eons of life, in all my great and perfect knowledge of my Father, I have never felt this emotion toward him till this year. Disappointment. My father has disappointed me in his treatment of what he once considered his most beloved of creations.” Michael paused, setting the book aside, intertwining his fingers between his knees. “My father told me once, this,” he waved his hand around them, “was his most perfect creation. This world, these humans. He saw them for the imperfect beings they were and he still said to me there was good in them, even when they did wrong, they were still perfect in his eyes. Humans were so different from me and my brothers and sisters, because they didn’t have to obey. They could ignore even the all-mighty Lord if they made the choice to do so. It’s how the first demons were created, after all. Choices. Those humans made choices and they fell, lost forever to the pit. Yet, others made choices that weren’t in accordance to my Father’s Will, but were still good and decent men and women, and God so loved them, he still would raise them up to heaven so they could bask in paradise.” 

Michael tilted his head, lips thinning for a moment, his brows furrowed, eyes distant in his own mind. “Humans, they grow. Change. They can become something new if they so have the desire. Back then, I found humans strange creatures. I pitied them at first—no perfect knowledge of our Father, their Lord, weak, emotional creatures. But, even back then, watching them huddle around a campfire in caves, freezing because they had yet to teach themselves how to build shelters or construct proper coverings, I saw something that surprised me so deeply it shook the foundations of my knowledge. They smiled. They wrapped each other in hugs, sharing their warmth, telling stories and singing around those little fires as they passed around their meager food rations, and it was as if I watched miniature gods blossom before me. I finally understood what my Father had been trying to tell me and the other angels."

Jack wiped his nose, studying Michael, his uncle, he realized, the first angel other than Castiel to tell him one of humanities many strengths. 

Michael smiled then, a lopsided thing that reminded him of Dean and Sam’s smiles. Michael looked to him and shook his head, shrugging a shoulder, “Humans could do what no other celestial being, other my Father could—they could create. They held imagination within their frail frames, and they were building their own worlds around them. They told stories. They sang to one another as a way to teach each other everything from where to hunt, where to find water, and to teach children where they should not wander. They evolved and grew, their stories changed from ones of mere survival to stories about heroic deeds from their bravest warriors, songs became ballads of love and loss, they stopped wandering aimlessly and settled, learning to build shelters and then villages. They imaged the possibilities in domesticating the wild beasts of the lands—and I stood there, in utter amazement before this fledgling race that was humanity, and I saw its beauty. I may not understand humans fully, even after befriending Adam all these years, but I came to love humanity just as my Father commanded. 

“I looked at my Father’s work, and I agreed, it was good. It was marvelous. I fought my own brother and locked him away in a pit because he had wanted to destroy these fragile creatures he saw as petty and blemished. I was the first born of my brothers and sisters, and I was the first to step forward to protect the imperfect creatures who would never know the full glory of our Father… because… because humanity is so very perfect in its own way. I never wanted the world to burn. But I see my Father, so callously destroying his most beloved of creations because of a story? Because a select few of these humans fight him and refuse to allow him to dictate their lives?” Michael shook his head, his cheeks reddening, knuckles white. “Freewill was what made humanity beloved in my Father's eyes, and how he could dismiss it now? I will not abandon my post, and I will not allow humanity’s demise. I will surely die in this war, but my blade will be at the throat of my Father, not at the throat of this glorious world.” 

Jack offered a small smile, and Michael offered one back, the pair studying one another, taking measure of the other. 

Tilting his head and considering his words, Jack nodded and faced the archangel, eager. “Uncle Michael, I want to help. I feel like... I feel like I’m not done, like there is more to my story. But I don’t know what I can do without my powers.” 

Michael’s lips curled, his look softening into something similar to what Castiel would give him; and it somehow comforted him to know he did have another member to add to his family. 

“You’ll figure it out, kid. I know you will. Castiel believed in you, and I think I should follow my brother’s lead and have faith in you as well.” Michael reached forward, patting his shoulder, leaning in as if conspiratorially, "Castiel was always very un-angel like. He was too young to remember me, but he always had a tendency to ask questions. It's probably why he was my favorite little brother. Well. Until he set me on fire."

Jack tried to smile. The idea that Castiel—who always said the angels held little love for him—had an older brother who did in fact like him, and Castiel who had always been a little troublemaker… it made him happy for the briefest of moments. But the tears came, sudden and unbidden, his loss, this secret little confession on Michael's part, and Jack found himself sniffling, wiping at his eyes, shoulders shaking and that hole in his chest opening up ever greater. “I miss him. I miss him so much. He always knew what to do.” He choked out, and Michael wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him against his side. 

“I know.” He whispered as Jack cried.

//

Dean woke up to Sam’s prodding on the floor of the bunker. Not on his bedroom floor, the main living area's floor. Passed out amongst the bottles of beer, face cradles in the curve of the empty whiskey bottle he finished off at some point last night, Dean cracked an eye open and found himself half under the library table. 

His face twisted and he hid behind his hands, hoping it just looked as if he was hung over and not trying to stop himself from screaming from the agony welling up deep inside, a roiling blackness reaching out like an oil slick, dragging away oblivion far too quickly and reminding him today was just yet another day of emptiness and loss. That people were gone. That someone was gone. 

His breathing hitched and he ground his teeth, shaking and feeling the wetness under his palms slide down along his temples and into his hair. 

He just wanted this to end. 

// 

Of everything that Dean expected Chuck to pull, bringing Lucifer back was not one of them. Let alone the fleeting hope that zinged through his body at the phone call and hearing Cass’ voice again. He ran for the door. He ran like a fucking lovesick school girl answering the door, leaving Sam in the dust, no idea what the hell he was doing, and Dean took those stairs three at a time just to get to that door one second sooner... just to hesitate, heart in his throat. He didn't know if he was brave enough to say anything, but he was desperate enough to need to see him, and he pushed the door open. Only to stare Lucifer in the face and feel his eyes widen and the words, 'abort' playing in his head as he slammed the door shut.

Oh, hell no.

The whole Lucifer thing was fucked up to begin with, but realizing that Lucifer honestly believed Chuck brought him back because he cared? That was fucked up. 

“Oh, you thought I was going to help you?” Lucifer winced, sucking in air through his teeth, “Yeah, sorry bucko. All in this for myself. Daddy-dearest says I’m his favorite now. So, I’m just going to take this…” He pulled the now open Death Book for God close to his chest. "and skedaddle." 

“You can’t do this.” Jack said, stepping forward, and Dean inched closer, eyes flicking between the two, trying to maneuver his way around the table to get himself between Lucifer and Jack. He was not going to let anything happen to him. He was their kid. He was theirs goddamnit. 

Michael came up from behind, the archangel blade going in for the kill. But Lucifer twisted like a fucking ballerina and backhanded Michael. 

“Aw, sorry, bro. But not today. See, our Dad gave me a job, and you know what, I’m actually going to do it. He wiped this earth clean of humans and we’re both finally on the same page. So, I’m not going to let you get between me and Dad finally bonding with each other.” Lucifer said, pulling a fist back and punching Michael in the jaw. Michael stumbled toward Jack, catching himself against the table, wisps of golden light trailing away from the split lip and toward Jack. 

Turning, Michael rounded on Lucifer and grabbed him by the back of the hair and yanked him around like a ragdoll, slamming his face into the table once, twice, and then he kneed him in the stomach. 

Lucifer gagged, eyes wide, and with each hit, that golden light wisped away from the devil. Dean followed the light, eyes wide as it made its way to Jack, disappearing into his chest and causing a flicker of golden light in his irises to flash on and off like a dying battery. 

Dean jerked his gun up and fired a shot into Lucifer’s shoulder, hitting Michael in the arm as the bullet exited. And that same light rose from both, as if drawn to Jack, and it curling into his chest. 

“Ow! Now, Dean, why would you go and do something like that? That’s not how you treat,” he turned and elbowed Michael in the side of the head, “your house guests.” he grunted. 

Michael shot Dean a look, nodding. “Sam!” Dean bellowed and opened fire, his brother following his lead and the two emptied their entire clips into Lucifer’s chest just as Michael lurched up behind Lucifer and locked him in a full Nelson. 

“Jack!” Michael snarled. “Take back your power.”

The golden light flowed from the injuries in Lucifer’s chest, and as if a moth to a flame, Jack stepped forward, hands raised, his eyes golden and yet glazed over, his movements robotic and moving on pure instinct. The moment his fingers touched Lucifer’s head that golden energy coiled up his fingers and down his arms, looking like a lightning strike of golden energy flowing into him, building into a halo around them. Lucifer screamed, eyes wide, that angelic white light glowing from his screaming face at first till it dimmed and he collapsed, panting to the ground. 

Jack stumbled backwards and Dean dropped his gun, throwing himself forward, catching Jack up in his arms as the kid shook and trembled. 

“Dean…” he whimpered. 

Dean nodded, patting his cheek. “You okay?” 

Jack nodded then shook his head, his breath hitching. “What’s happening?”   
  
Dean pulled him close and hugged him, letting the kid cling to him, and if he were completely honest, he to him. 

Lucifer sat up, staring at his hands, anguish curling his face into horror, rage, misery, and he wailed, leaning forward, falling to the ground with his face pressed to the floor. “No, anything but this.” He sobbed. 

Michael stepped up behind his brother, frowning down at him, archangel blade in hand. “It is done. Lucifer is no more.”

Dean jolted, eyes darting back and forth. “Wait, is that… uh… what’s his name?”

“Nick?” Sam supplied the name, already kneeling down, gun aimed and ready at the weeping man, reaching for his arm, preparing to lock it behind his back. 

“Kill me. Don’t leave me like this.” He wailed, shaking his head, hands pawing at his face, leaving behind red scratches that didn’t heal. 

“No. It is Lucifer. Powerless. Mortal.” Michael's grip tightened on the archangel blade. 

Dean swore, looking at Jack and his glassy eyes, almost like he was shot up on powerful painkillers and floating on the high. “He took his power?” 

Michael frowned, looking to Dean and then to Jack. “We might win this after all.”

"Don't leave me human!" Lucifer wailed, clawing at his arms.

Dean swore again, patting Jack’s cheek to snap him out of it. He tried to swallow, but his heart was in his throat, a weighted reminder of what hope tasted like. 

//

Dean rubbed at his face, drinking another shot, and scowling at the sound of footsteps walking in on his brooding. 

“So, Jack’s resting. Managed to get him to eat something and he’s in bed now. Lucifer is locked up in the dungeon. Michael said he’d keep an eye on him through the night for us.”

“What a standup guy that Mikey is.” Dean grunted, fingers tightening on the bottle, wanting to lift it up and drink, but Sam’s eyes on him stayed his hand long enough so his brother would stop trying to catch him drinking his shitty life away.

“Jack got his powers back. This is big, Dean. We might have a chance now. Between Jack and Michael—” 

“Just because Jack got his groove back, doesn’t mean it's enough to kill Chuck. As much as I want to put a cap in his ass and bury him ten feet under, in concrete,” Dean swallowed hard, knuckles white against the bottle. “I don’t think he can die.”

Sam eased down into the chair across from him, face pinched, mouth thin. He looked haggard, eyes haunted, and yet, his baby brother still had so much hope it made him feel like he had kicked a puppy. “I know that’s what we thought, but—” 

“No, Sammy,” he finally raised his eyes to look at him, knowing full well his blood shot eyes, the way his face felt way too slack from lack of sobriety to fool Sam, “No. He can’t be destroyed. Using Jack as a bomb was our only option for that. Do I regret not shoving him in that room?” he hated himself. He truly did. He shook his head, and pulled that damn bottle to him and drank straight from it. Tears welling at the corner of his eyes, because he did, he regretted it because if they had followed the plan, would Cass still be here? He hated himself. he hated himself. “But the kid ain’t a bomb. He’s not even an archangel. He’s nephilim; a powerful archangel baby nephilim; but he’s not a god. He’s just a juiced up two-year-old.”

Sam frowned at him, watching him drain the bottle, watched him push it away, and he watched as he dragged himself up from his chair, swaying and stumbling, a drunken disaster as he tried to find another bottle because he could still think, could still feel everything inside that tore him to ribbons. 

He felt Sam’s hands on him and he slapped at them, shoving at his brother, spitting curses at him and trying to get away. But his brother wrapped him in a hug, guiding his collapse to the ground so that as the tears came, Dean had someone to hold onto. 

“We’ll get him back, Dean. I swear. We’ll get them all back.”

Dean choked on his next sob. 

//

Jack sat in the hallway, listening to Dean cry. He gripped his knees tight, his chest welled with emotions that he didn’t like the feeling of. It felt like a damp blanket wrapping around his windpipe and trying to strangle him by pulling his lungs out of his chest through his back. The feeling was ugly, unwanted, and he just didn’t want to feel this way.

As Dean cried and Sam didn’t bother consoling him anymore, Jack stood, padding through the bunker on bare feet. He wandered the halls, but all the same, following the draw of angelic power, Jack found himself standing beside Michael and staring into the dungeon where a chained and very human Lucifer sat in absolute silence like a comatose victim. 

“It took me a long time to understand that even though he is my biological father, I don’t have to be like him.” Jack whispered. 

“That is something your human-side could adapt around, I suppose.”

Jack shrugged a shoulder, “There was a time I wanted to know him. To understand him. But I don’t anymore. I don’t care that I’ve upset him by taking his powers and mine back. Does that make me a bad person?”

“I don’t have an answer for that one, kid.” Michael looked at him from the corner of his eyes, and Jack sighed, that tight feeling in his chest returning. 

“Uncle Michael? What did I do exactly?”

Michael shrugged, looking down at the archangel blade he held and swung in between his fingers. “Do you remember what Adam--the first man, Adam. Not my Adam. Do you remember what he told you, about his rib?”

“That it held the power to destroy God because he was of the divine, the first of the divine.”

“Right. But what else? What else did that rib represent?”

Jack frowned, studying his uncle. His brows curled ever so slightly, thinking, remembering walking into that shop, studying the rocks and gemstones and seeing the spark of the divine in every one of them, and suddenly realizing that everything he looked at held that same spark. Rocks, trees, the water he drank, even the Impala held the divine inside the metal and chrome. He could almost feel the world hum with that power all around him, listening to it like a song on the wind. 

When Adam cut his rib out, he saw that spark of the divine, a beacon of light compared to the sparks surrounding him. That rib had practically glowed in his hand, throbbing with power that he drew into himself for the simple act of killing God himself. 

But that hum. That gentle melody within the divine. Jack tilted his head, remembering the feeling of drawing that power inside before converting it, remembering Adam’s smirk with blood on his face as he pointed at it, and Jack’s back straightened, shoulders stiff and brows raised high. 

“Oh.”

Michael snorted, mouth twisting up in that half grin. “Get it now, kid?”

“Creation.”

“There’s always two sides of the coin, kid. Just because Adam told you that rib was for destruction, it originally was what created life as humanity knows it. Don’t let my Father trick you into thinking this is the end.” 

“Because nothing ever really ends, does it?” Jack whispered, studying Lucifer sitting as still as a statue on his bed, with Michael’s hand settling on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

//

“We just need something to hold him. To trap him for even just one minute.” Sam muttered. His renewed hunt through the library creating a veritable mess that would have old-Sam from one month ago crying into his salad over the lack of organization. 

Dean didn’t give a rat’s ass about the mess. He nodded at his brother, his hands shaking from lack of alcohol. Sam refused to let him drink after he woke up from sobbing like a child the night before. 

Rubbing his face and looking back to his book, Dean’s eyes trailed over the entrapment spells for some of the lower case ‘g’ gods, not seeing anything new; not seeing anything useful. Tossing the book away, Dean hesitated, lingering on a book that looked fairly new compared to the dusty leather tombs he had combed through for the last week. Pulling the cloth-bound edition his way, Dean glanced to Sam then away, his mouth going dry, palms sweating, and Dean’s heart speeding up. He opened the book, slumped in his chair just as he would with any other lore, except this one, he actually read, comprehending, soaking in every word like his life depended on it. 

_‘The ferryman’s fee—’_

_‘Walk pass the souls of the dead—’_

_‘Don’t look back—’_

Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam and back, blood rushing in his ears. Sliding a piece of paper over the page, he ran through the list he had made, checking and double checking, his hand shaking as he lowered the pen and scratched out several possible locations the book listed. Underlining one in particular.

Licking his lips, Dean folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket and caught his breath. Standing, slapping the book in a huff, Dean gathered up the books he had and walked away, mumbling about getting the next batch. He shoved the books onto a random shelf, the rush of blood in his ears deafening him, and he yanked the next book off the shelf, licking his lips anxiously. 

_‘He descended into the underworld to plead for the return of his lost beloved.’_

Dean closed his eyes, breathing slow and deep. 

Of all the shit going on that left him helpless, this, this he could hold onto and believe in.

//

Sam mixed the pancake batter a little faster than he should have. He knew if Dean were in his right mind he would be doing this, scolding him for taking all the air out of the batter, for not treating the home cooked meal as the sacred thing it was. 

Dean had gone off to his room, lying through his teeth that he just needed a break. He knew Dean had liquor hidden somewhere in his room. He wasn’t expecting him back sober for dinner in twenty minutes.

Sam missed Eileen’s presence at his elbow. He missed the way she would laugh when he fumbled through a sign and would correct him with no care in the world. She surprised him every time he talked with her, and she surprised him every second he spent with her. She was unlike any other hunter. Quick to smile. Sharp witted. To the point. Okay, those last two were normal. But Eileen carried herself different from all the other hunters he had grown up around and encountered over the course of his life. She had a way of embedding herself into people’s hearts within minutes of meeting her. He had noticed her even way back during the banshee case when he had thought she was just a maid and he hadn’t discovered she was actually a hunter. She captivated him and he missed her. 

Sam blinked quickly, stirring the batter slower as he waited for the grill to heat. 

Jack wandered into the kitchen, drawn to the smell of the bacon he had cooking in the oven—because it was healthier than frying it in its own grease, thank you very much. “Hello, Sam.” Jack smiled at him, watching him work. 

“Hey, do you want strawberries and whipped cream on your pancakes?” Sam said, pouring a perfect little dollop on the grill, doing everything in his power to follow Eileen’s instructions perfectly so he could make the perfect pancakes. 

“I would like that very much. Thank you.”

“The strawberries are in the fridge, could you get them for me?”

“Of course.” Jack shuffled to the fridge and took the carton of strawberries in hand, when he paused, standing extremely still, before he reached back inside and pulled out an egg. 

Sam watched him; brow furrowed. Jack stared at the egg, head tilting to the side, his mouth growing slack, open. He set the strawberries down on the edge of the counter, walking away to the dinner table, and Sam lunged, catching the carton before it fell. 

Jack sat, studying the egg, turning it over and over in his hands, tracing the narrow curve of one end and the broad wide curve at the other, his head cocking in the opposite direction with a furrow between his brows. 

“You okay there, Jack?”

“Oh, yes—” Jack trailed off, what reassurance he started with disipated into a look of curiosity and confusion. Cupping the egg between his palms, Jack stared at the thing, his eyes moving across it like he was mapping something across its white surface. Sam flipped the pancakes, the bottoms a little blacker than he was aiming for, but he watched Jack, gripping the spatula a little tighter than he should. 

“Jack?”

“What came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Sam snorted, a smile spreading over his face, the first real one he had felt all week. “Uh, that’s one of the greatest philosophical debates. No one really knows. The egg had to come from something, but what constitutes what the first chicken was? Was it a dinosaur? Was it just an evolutionary fluke that stuck? Was it simply willed into creation by God? No one really knows.”

Jack hummed, tilting his head, brows furrowed in thought as he studied the egg, turning it over a few times in his palms. 

“Why the sudden interest?”

“I just realized how important an egg is. I can see how it can create entire worlds.”

Sam frowned, looking up from the pancakes and watching the boy sit at the table, sifting through that statement and coming up short. 

Jack’s posture shifted between one heartbeat to the next. Shoulders squared, back straight, his face smooth of lines or concern. Jack held the egg up, parallel to his chest, and even Sam felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. It was like the electricity came right out of the wall sockets, quivering in the air around them, snapping and popping, the energy building up to such a low-level hum, that Dean came stumbling into the kitchen, gun in hand, eyes wide, and with a drunken sway that was all too common these days. 

“Jack?” Dean demanded, looking around, sweeping the area, then back to Jack. 

The energy hissed, fizzled, and Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck settle down. “Well, that was weird.” He said, quickly scooping the pancakes onto the spatula so they wouldn’t burn. 

“What the hell was that?” Dean stuck his gun in the back of his pants, stomping into the kitchen and staring down at the kid.

The egg cracked. 

Jack jumped, Dean jerked back a step, and Sam’s eyes widened. Jack darted a look their way then back, his shoulders rounding out, his eyes wide and hands growing still as he looked to Sam with the questions of the universe on his face. 

Frowning, Sam waited, then another crack appeared in the egg, and it wiggled.

Sam dropped the pancakes onto the plate, the spatula following and he rounded the counter, watching the egg wiggle and twitch in Jack’s palms. “What the…”

“Hell…” Dean finished. 

A chip popped off and a small beak peaked out, soft chirps following immediately. 

“Jack, what did you do?” Dean pointed at the egg. 

“I… I don’t know.” He inhaled sharply, watching another crack in the egg split down its side and another chip of shell flaked away. “It was like I could see what the egg could have been if it had been fertilized and warm. I wondered what the egg could have become and wished it had… had the chance at life.”

“You… you wished the egg to life?” Sam asked, voice soft and gentle. 

Jack shrugged, brow furrowed, looking a little lost as to what exactly he did and yet understanding in a way that words could never adequately explain. Jack tilted his head, watching the chick break through another portion of its shell, its head now poking out, feathers wet and slicked down. Sam watched a small smile curl Jack’s lips, love growing in his eyes. 

“I could still see its divine spark, so I… I touched it.”

“You touched a divine spark?” Sam raised a brow. 

“Yes.”

Dean craned his neck, face twisted in doubt, “With your hands?”

The bitch-face Jack gave him was so very Winchester that Sam felt proud. “My mind.”

Dean nodded, swaying on his heels, hand raised to end the question. “Right.”

Sam looked back to the chick, once again struggling with another piece of the egg, watching it flail around to free itself from the shell just to slide free and rest in the palm of Jack’s hands. It lay there, panting, looking so cold and wet and tired. But there was a triumph there in that frail body. It had accomplished the first greatest struggle in its life, and it had come out a winner.

Jack carefully set the eggshell aside, cradling the chick, pulling it close to his chest near his heart, his smile growing the longer he looked at the chick. Turning his gaze to Sam, Jack’s face cracked into a grin, huge and magnificent, beaming the way a child might on Christmas. “She’s so small.” His voice cooed. 

Sam shuffled closer, heart pounding, watching the chick shift in his palm and chirp a few times as she got her land-legs and managed to sit up, perching in his hand and shaking her feathers as they slowly began to dry and fluff. 

“So, you can…” Dean eyed the chick, waving his hand in the air to indicate through flailing hand movements the complexities of Jack having the power to create life. 

“She needs a name.” Jack cut in, holding the chick up to his face, her little black eyes blinking at him with a tilt of her head. It looked almost angelic. “I think I’ll name her, Daphne.” 

“What?”

“Like from Scooby-Doo. I liked it when we watched Scooby-Doo.” Jack whispered, his smiling falling, but that look of love only seemed to grow the longer he cradled the miracle that was Daphne in his hands. 

//

He inhaled, sharp and fast, though it felt like no air filled his lungs. There was nothing. Just blackness, infinite, nothingness all around him. 

Castiel eased himself up, looking around, remembering all to clearly what this place was. Then a foot stomped down on his chest and forced him down, the heel of the boot digging into his throat.

“Why won’t you stay asleep?” The Empty hissed, fists shaking, eyes wide and wild, still dressed in the body of Meg. “Why won’t anyone stay asleep?” the Empty choked on the question, face twisted, hands pressing against its ears, and it jerked its head to the side, nearly bending backwards from the movement. 

Little pops, like popcorn, echoed in the darkness around him. Castiel turned his head, staring into the eternal void, only to watch little balls of angelic blue and white light flicker awake, fizzle up from out of the nothingness and popping, dropping a body to the ground where seconds, or sometimes minutes later, the body stirred and stood. Castiel could see their glow, their energy; angels, awake in the Empty’s nothingness. They would sway in place, staring at their hands, looking around, wandering in the blank world as if pulled by gravity to the cluster of other awakening angels around them. They stood in a sphere of light, their own little beacon of heavenly glow in the dark with utterly confused faces twisting their vessels. 

“Why won’t you stay asleep?” The Empty moaned and turned, waving its hand at the group, growling in frustration when only a handful of the angels dropped, just for more pops of reawakening lights to drop around them like falling leaves. 

The rumble came again, bigger, louder, shaking the Empty like an earthquake, and just as before, those popcorn pops sounded all around him, little balls of light blooming, growing, and becoming. 

“You. You did this!” The Empty nearly sobbed, reaching for him, digging its fingers into his throat and jerking him to his feet. Castiel grabbed at its arm, back arching, lungs burning despite not needing the air. “How could you do this?”

“I… didn’t…” he ground out through clenched teeth.

More pops and rumbles, the Empty dropped him, coving its ears and stumbled backward. 

Castiel coughed, bowing forward, hand to his throat. The rumbling rolled through him, tickling his senses, energizing the very core of his creation. The cells in his body hummed with it, he could feel the molecules vibrate within him, and Castiel’s eyes widened, head snapping up, watching as more and more angels, and even demons, were awakened, huddling in groups to combat the nothingness around them, whispering, talking, touching for comfort. 

Castiel climbed to his feet, the rumble thrumming inside him like a heartbeat. He knew that energy. He had felt it so many times in the past two years he scolded himself for not recognizing it immediately. 

“Jack?”

//

Michael glanced over his shoulder, slipping out of the bunker's only entrance. He jerked to a stop, Dean Winchester standing in his path. 

"Where you goin', Mikey?" Dean asked, tilting his head, angle blade tapping against his knee.

Remembering the explanation Adam gave him about emotions, he considered what he was feeling and realized it was guilt and worry. "Nowhere." he said. 

Dean leveled a glare at him that said it all. "You are a horrible liar."

"Is it too much to ask that you trust me?" 

The glare intensified. 

Michael pursed his lips, studying the man who once upon a time was to have been his vessel. He leaned back against the door, hands in his pockets, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. "Jack." 

"That doesn't explain anything, man." 

"He's not made of Darkness as my Father would have you think. He's a child of the Light." 

"And?"

"We can win. But you have to trust me."

Dean shook his head, jaw tight, eyes hard, his brilliantly shining soul dappled in ugly grays and blacks, mottled like bruises. "This isn't the time to be negotiating. Not in the last quarter. Not with only four of us standing up against an ultimate supreme God." He stood, and Michael saw it, the slight hesitation, the sway, the way his body screamed out in pain, and Michael understood it, if only a little. He still couldn't quite comprehend the human-intensity of emotions, but he felt his angelic pain just fine. 

"Dean Winchester, my Father has killed everyone I have ever known or cared for. Perhaps my sense of family is different from yours, but my Father has decimated all the good he ever created. Jack, he is something God has no power over, but only if you can trust me."

"Why shouldn't I gank you now? Get it over with? Guarantee you aren't going to run off and betray us?" Dean stepped forward, hand lifting the blade, leveling it with his heart. 

"Because God has already betrayed us all." He stepped forward, letting the tip of the blade press against his chest, feeling the first hint of heat and pain warming against his skin. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, studying him, trying so hard to read him. Though he was a horrible liar, he knew Dean was scrambling for answers. Grasping for anything to believe in.

"Because I want Adam back." He whispered, meeting his eyes. "He became my closest companion while my Father left me locked in the cage. Adam didn't deserve to be taken, used, manipulated like he was. He deserved to live a long and happy life; but he won't get that if you don't let me go."

His hand hesitated, a small tick in his jaw clenched, and then Dean Winchester lowed the blade, eyes sad. "We all did." 

Michael nodded, reached for him, and pressed his fingers to his forehead, clearing away the alcohol, cleaning him up, and forcing this broken man to wake up out of the bleakness in his soul. “If we are to win this, you need to take care of yourself. You need to be present and ready for this fight.” 

Dean closed his eyes, and Michael saw the shake in his hand, the way he pressed it against his thigh to hide the weakness, and he saw the way his soul withdrew without the fog of alcohol. “I know.”

“Jack’s power is new. It’s weak and nothing compared to my Father’s power. But Jack has something my Father is losing after destroying countless worlds of his own making. He’s lost everything in ridding himself of the very beings he loved most of all. You need to be there for Jack to get him through this.”

Dean scoffed, “He’s two-years-old. What could he possibly have that Chuck doesn’t?”

“Love.” 

The man glared and Michael held his ground, observing the range of emotions flickering across the shine of his eyes. The archangel may never fully understand human emotion, but Adam had taught him in their long years together, that the reasons humans were so volatile was the ability to experience more than one emotion at a time. Dean Winchester certainly embodied that truth, but as he stamped the emotions down, throat bobbing, he also proved that humans could drown in those same emotions and lie about it. “In my experience, love just gets people killed.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop loving just because it isn’t present.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” 

It was Michael’s turn to shoot a glare his way, but that torn soul being held together by long rooted denial and alcohol to fill in the fissures, Michael held his hands up in surrender. 

“You have to understand, Jack was born from a divine creation and from celestial infinity. Jack was born of the Light and that makes him more special than any of you have ever attempted to understand.”

Dean swallowed and looked away, his gaze distant, shoulders stiff. “Except Cass.” 

“Castiel certainly felt the potential of what Jack could become. My brother did more to save this world simply by raising that boy in it. We have a chance.”

Dean nodded, reluctant, but Michael relaxed as Dean relaxed, his green eyes rich and darker than normal. He thought Adam might explain why that was, why the sorrow Dean Winchester was treading could change him on a physical level… but Adam wasn’t here, and he missed the kid dearly. 

“Now get your act together, and take care of my nephew. He’s going to become amazing.” Michael smiled, stepping out of the bunker’s wardings and took flight, looking back only once. He felt Winchester walk back into the bunker before he disappeared from his view. He hoped the man would understand what he was about to do.

Michael spread his wings wide, sending forth his power, eyes closed, and reaching out into the suddenly very empty universe, a prayer on his lips, as he called out for his Father, pleading for his forgiveness. 

//

Dean stood in the kitchen early the next morning, apron around his hips, food spaced on the counter, and cookbook propped in the book holder when Sam shuffled in, yawning and in search of coffee. He stopped, eyes wide, and Dean waved him toward the breakfast bar with his whisk, “Eat up. We have work to do.” 

Sam stared back at him, and Dean knew he could see it in the way he felt tense and was biting his cheek that he knew he was sober at the moment. He knew Sam wanted to ask questions, his brother always wanted to delve into emotional chick-flick moments, but Sam also knew him well enough that one wrong move right now might make him spiral, and Dean was holding on by his fingernails. He had to do this for Jack, for the possibility of getting Cass back, just to give Sam the chance to maybe lock Eileen down and be happy for just once in his life. 

“Eat up before it gets cold.” Dean said, looking back down at the heavy cream he was whipping, and got back to work. 

Jack shuffled in then, Daphne chirping in his hands hidden in the flannel shirt he had given her to keep her warm. “Oh, waffles. My favorite.” He smiled, so happy and innocent, and Dean swallowed down his want for a drink in favor of keeping his promise to Michael to take care of Jack. Its what Cass would have wanted. 

“Made ‘em just for you kid! Start making your plate up and I’ll have this whipped cream done in just two minutes. 

“Do we have blueberries?” 

Dean scowled, “Why would you want to ruin perfectly good waffles with fruit? Pour maple syrup on top and then top it off with bacon. It’s the only way to eat them.” 

“But I like blueberries.” Jack frowned, brows furrowed as if honestly wondering where he had gone wrong. 

“Ignore, Dean. Fruit on waffles is good for you.” Sam said, dragging Dean’s gaze up to him. It was just a simple look, hardly the long, soulful gazes of younger years, but it was enough, a soft thank you and delicate nod of understanding, before Sam hugged Jack in a side hug and dragged him to the breakfast bar where the first stack of waffles sat cooling. “You don’t even need syrup. The fruit is enough.”

“Blasphemy!” Dean barked, and Jack smiled, Sam bitch-faced, and Daphne chirped. 

Dean took a deep breath and focused on his family, holding to the fact he had just to wait a little longer before everyone would once again be present.

//

“I’ve got it.” Sam hurried into the library a grin on his face. “I found a summoning spell for God.” 

Dean’s brows shot up, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, and it looks legit too.”

Michael cocked his head, “How soon can you summon my Father?”

Sam’s smile grew. “It’s a specific spell, we’ll need to head out to one of the lakes and stand in a specific spot and perform the summoning at a specific time of day, but that’s the best part, we could do it this afternoon. We already have all the ingredients.” 

“This is a good thing.” Jack looked to his uncle and back to Sam, and Dean watched Michael’s small nod.

“Yes, this is good.” Michael agreed, his smile grim, but his back straight and a determination in the set of his shoulders. 

“All right.” Dean said, glancing at Sam and back to Michael then to Jack. “Let’s kill ourselves God.”

//

Castiel was hesitant to join his brothers and sisters, staring at the light of his siblings giving the nothingness of the Empty one destination to gravitate toward. 

It wasn’t till the rumblings quieted once more and the awakening angels settled, did the Empty try to twist his insides into knots, digging into his memories, forcing him to relive every failure he ever lived through. 

Except one. The Empty dragged his last moments with Dean to the forefront, forcing him to gaze upon Dean’s face as he told him everything, felt the joy, the love, the pure unadulterated happiness well up inside him—and the Empty leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “You destroyed him by telling him that.” And the Empty showed a broken Dean Winchester sobbing on the floor of the dungeon, one small last glimpse of the outside world before the Empty returned to its nothingness world, holding onto that one detail for just this instance on the off chance Castiel woke up. “And you’re mine, forever.”

Only when the Empty did leave him alone, slipping off to try and silence the other voices, did Castiel look up from his slumped form, meeting the eyes of Hanna, Balthazar, even Gabriel, the three gazing at him from the outskirts of the angelic host. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and the Empty returned, digging into his memories once again. Castiel watched Dean cry, and he felt regret.

//

Michael left to scout ahead, to prepare the summoning site for them as they loaded the ingredients into the car. 

"We'll keep fighting till our last breath." Dean said, packing up the car, and tossing a machete into the trunk. Sam stood at his left, nodding, shoulders set, jaw tightening as he offered over a case of bullets that Dean packed away. 

Jack nodded to his right, cradling Daphne to his chest. 

"We'll fix the world,” Dean concluded, checking the slide of his gun and ejecting the slide to tap it against the rest out of habit. “If Winchesters know one thing, it’s how to be stubborn sons of bitches. We'll kill Chuck, and afterward, after we have our people back, we're going for some damn taquitos—with Cass and Eileen, and whoever else is close enough to join us. And then, we're going to throw back some shots, sing some bad karaoke, and we’re going to celebrate, because we'll be free for the first time in our screwed-up lives, and we'll decide what makes us happy." He said, a smirk on his face. 

Sam snorted, but he could hear the smile in it, like his brother was smirking at him and judging him silently in the best way possible. 

Jack though, he sniffled, and Dean looked at the kid, remembering that look on his own face when Bobby had died. Jack looked so small, numb to everything and yet being forced to stand up and care. Jack raised his red-rimmed eyes, shining in the garage lights, "But, what if the Empty won't-"

Dean leveled a look on the kid, fists at his sides. "Listen, I've gone to Hell, Purgatory, and I even wen to Reno and back, and all with Cass. Not even the epic douche-nozzle that is God will stop me. If I have to personally go to the Empty to drag his ass out, I will do it and we'll leave together, you hear me? There is nothing in this universe that can stop me." He twisted his face up into a half grin, all swagger and the dredges of whiskey courage. Though bravado was all he had left, this, he wasn’t lying over. He’d find a way because he was Dean fucking Winchester. 

Jack nodded, inhaling deep and sharp, his chest puffing out before he nodded, quick and precise and reminding him so much of Castiel. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, throwing him a wink just to sell it, “That’a boy.” He then turned back to the trunk and smirked. “Let’s get to work.” And he slammed it shut. 

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I decided I am a masochist and thought, "Hey! I'll re-write 15x19 to what I was expecting to happen!" and now regret all my life choices because WTF was I thinking?
> 
> sigh. So to be EXTREMELY transparent, from Chapter 2 on, this is essentially a first draft that I'm BLASTING OUT as fast as possible before the series Finale on 11/19 (OMG I'm so screwed), and because this is a first draft, this is NOT up to my normal standard of quality. I have a tendency to ramble so this is sooooo much longer than I would normally make it, so forgive me in that regard.
> 
> Anyway. I wanted to prove a point more than anything. The IDEA of what 19 gave us was actually a really solid idea.. but the whole episode felt rushed and like they smashed 2 episodes into one --sucked all the normal Winchester angst out of it... and while writing this, that episode just made it even more abundantly clear to me that they tried to condense several episodes worth of information into one..... and the fact they didn't foreshadow Jack in an effective way at all kills me down to my writer's soul.  
> ANYWAY; doesn't matter. if anything, trying to rewrite 19 made me understand better what they were trying to do, so I'm not as.... um.... upset with the episode as my first reaction was. I'm still disappointed and flabbergasted that the writer was all "yeah! nailed it! high five guys!" after writing it, because no. just no. It was still an extremely weak and poorly done season finale, but.... I understand a little better what happened and so I can maybe, sorta, from a small cold sliver of my crowley-heart forgive the episode... BUT JUST A LITTLE. I still think it could have been executed better.
> 
> anyway. this second chapter was the reaction and fallout period of what happened in 18, and though I feel like its ALL character driven and kinda boring (thus why I understand 19 a little better) I wanted to fix the travesty of what they did to poor Michael and Adam.... I wanted to foreshadow Jack, I wanted to actually explore just how HOPELESS that final episode really was and how by just hinting that Jack might be the key... it could have added so much more tension to the story and a sense of building anticipation. Plus, damnit, we needed to see Dean really break down over this epic failure, this epic loss, and his own emotional loss of realizing that maybe he could have had what he wanted all along because Cass did feel the same this whole time... ((the confirmation from Jensen on that fact slaughtered me.))
> 
> The next chapter will be DRASTICALLY different from the season finale, and THAT portion of the story was what I was expecting to happen for the ending. So.... seriously... pray for me that I get it done tomorrow.... *CRIES* I haven't even started writing it.... *SOBS*
> 
> GAh, this chapter... it's soooooo much longer than I thought it was going to be. I know I'll be embarrassed by this whole mess tomorrow and that I'll want to cry tomorrow after i wake up and realize in horror that yes, I did, indeed, post that first draft. Its just not up to my normal standard... but I wanted to get this up before thursday... and I have two more chapters to write ;__; kill me now. I hate myself. why did I decide to do this? this is a first draft. it's sooooo crappy~ pray for me.
> 
> OH, as far as Daphne.... DUDES, Jack needs a pet. It seemed fitting. Also, this idea of this kid who became the new God holding his pet chicken under his arm as he walks up to people, smiles with that adorable hand raise, while this mother-lovin' chicken is under his arm right before he performs a miracle.... yep. I was extremely pleased with myself. Daphne is love.
> 
> If by some miracle you liked this new installment, let me know. I need the praise to keep me motivated through my tears as I type till my fingers bleed.


	2. Deicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what? I thought I was going to be sad when this story ended. I thought… I used to think this was the greatest story I ever told, because you Winchesters always surprised me. But you know what? I won’t miss you at all. I should have ended this years ago.” Chuck glared, stalking to Sam and drawing his fist back in a haymaker and slugged him without hesitation.

_The term deicide was coined in the 17th century from medieval Latin *deicidium, from deus "god" and -cidium "cutting, killing."_

//

Beside the lake where they were to summon God, Dean offered a small smile to Sam, the type of look where nothing needed to be said. They had sorted themselves out long ago—no matter the hiccups that popped up in their path, the brothers knew where they stood with one another and no matter the outcome, they would be fine. It was Jack they pulled into a quick hug, Dean holding on just a second longer, asking for forgiveness, hoping the kid understood he did care for him, wishing he could change harsh words spoken in the past to words of kindness. Hoping a hug could fix it all. 

Michael landed beside them in a flutter of wings that made his heart skip at the familiarity of it. There was even a hint of ozone that comforted him for just a moment. With a sign an clearing of his throat, Dean rolled his shoulders and nodded to Michael in favor of acknowledging the momentary slip in his armor. The archangel inclined his head and Sam stepped forward, chanting in Babylonian. The copper braziers smoking, curling in blue fog till he dropped the match into the central one and beams of light shot up into the sky. 

Dean took a step back, surprised at the light show, and inhaled slow and deep. This was the end. No matter what happened, this was it.

"Sam and Dean. What an unexpected surprise. Summoning me? Without a plan? Whatever could go wrong?" The sarcasm that rolled off Chuck's tongue made Dean glare and want to stab him in the neck on principle. 

Chuck smirked and snapped his fingers, the spell, the ingredients, all vanishing. Sam jerked at the move, eyes darting to Dean, jaw tight, his face three seconds away from slipping into bitch-face ninety-seven because his lame-ass idea was probably going to get them dead. 

Dean wasn't too concerned for himself. Maybe death would be better anyway. Maybe this just made him suicidal. Maybe it made him a big damn hero. Either way, he needed to be a little reckless in hopes this worked and they'd get their people back. 

"Oh, sorry. Was that the spell? The one that you supposedly found that was going to trap me?" Chuck waved his hands, damn near laughing in their faces. "Yeah, no. I knew it was bogus." He shook his head, a disappointed look on his face. "Guys, come on, you're better than this. Tricking me… me… this is all so... seven years ago." He strolled closer, hands behind his back, looking at the ground, shoes kicking up the gravel. "So, what were you hoping? Huh? Make a deal? Plead?" His eyes met theirs, brow raised. "Maybe have my own son stab me in the back?" 

Sam stiffened beside him, and Dean darted a look to Michael, his eyes widening just enough he knew Chuck saw it. 

Michael shuffled in place, stepping away from the brothers, and he turned to face them, his back to Chuck. 

"Really man?" Dean scowled, and Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, standing up to his full height as if that would intimidate the two celestial beings standing in front of them.

"I'm a good son." Michael said, meeting Dean's eyes. 

"Good to know where you stand, you flying dick."

Michael smiled, his eyes sliding to the side to Jack and back. "I'd do anything for family. Wouldn't you agree?"

Dean ground his teeth and lurched forward, Sam at his side without hesitation. “Not after they finished murdering the entire world.”

Chuck scoffed, laugher bubbling up. “Murdered? Harsh much? 

“This isn’t a story anymore, Chuck, this is just a punishment.” Sam sighed. “At least in the past, we had hope of winning. We had a chance. We can’t win against you and that doesn’t make for a good story. It’s unfair and no one wants to read that.” 

That got a glare out of Chuck, and Dean lifted his chin, taking note.

Michael dared another glance at Jack, and as if electrocuted, Jack lowered his head and ran at Chuck. 

Dean couldn't breathe, his eyes widening, his heart threatening to escape his chest because he couldn’t lose Jack too. A shout burst from his chest; a cry so primal it reverberated in his throat. Sam drew his gun, Michael's archangel blade appeared in his hand, and Dean dropped his gun, legs pumping, blood running cold as he ran toward Jack and saw Chuck from the corner of his eye turn his head toward Jack with a slow smirk crawling over his smug face. Dean heard the gunshots behind him, the ping of the bullets bouncing off Chuck, and Dean slid through the dirt, throwing himself in front of Jack just as the first blow from Chuck connected in the form of a punch to his shoulder and he heard something crunch. Dean groaned and stumbled backward into Jack. 

Chuck scowled and Dean bore his teeth, pressing a hand to his shoulder as Chuck in turn raised his fingers, preparing to snap, “I’m so sick of you and Sam.” He said. 

Michael spun a circuit, his archangel blade angled for Chuck's throat. His arm hit Chuck's wrist, stopped dead in its path by God’s might, and not a single inch of ground was lost. The angel blade tumbled from his hand, the way his arm fell to his side, Dean knew the angel was hurt, and watching him go up against God was like flying headfirst into a mountainside using a hang glider in hopes of moving it. 

Chuck’s face twisted, looking from Jack, to Dean, and then focusing last of all on his son, on Michael's set jaw and raised chin. Chuck scowled, cheeks ruddy. “You?”

“I swore an oath. I won’t turn my back—” 

“You swore to me!” Chuck roared, shoving Michael’s arm aside and grabbed the angel by the throat, forcing Michael backward in stumbling steps in the loose gravel. “I shouldn’t be surprised. This universe has done nothing but defy me. Changing. Making choices against the narrative. Every. Single. One of you!” He punched Michael, knocking him to the ground followed by a kick to the ribs. 

“Uncle Michael!”   
  
Dean wrapped his arm around Jack, holding him back, watching from over his shoulder as the archangel coughed blood onto the gravel. 

“I’ll get to you next!” Chuck rounded on them, face flushed, finger shaking. 

Michael struggled to his knees. His mouth twisted into a half smile, holding his ribs. He nodded to Dean, to Jack, and he raised his eyes to his Father with an ever growing smile that turned the dutiful son into a shadow of what he once was. “Jack, Castiel was right. You’ll be amazing.”

Mouth thinning, seething below the surface, Chuck jerked his head around to look at Jack and the sky rumbled and clapped to match his wrath. 

Dean felt Jack twist out of his arms, and he heard a soft cheeping coming from his breast pocket. “Shit, Jack…”

Jack peeked into his pocket, and Daphne’s head poked out, chirping at him with a ruffle of her yellow, fluffy feathers, and gazing up at him adoringly as only a baby chick could. “Don’t worry.” Jack said, looking to Dean, “We’ll be fine.” The kid only managed three steps before the snap echoed in their ears and a rush of wind hit them in the chests. Dean dropped to a knee and Jack fell to his hands and knees, eyes flickering with golden light. 

Michael’s scream clued him into what happened. Dean watched the archangel’s eyes and mouth fill with angelic light, face cracking like lava flowed beneath his flesh, and he screamed, back arching, limps shaking, body splitting wide, before he exploded into dust and the energy wave rushed at them, washing over him and Jack in a wave of golden energy that roiled and sank into Jack, making his eyes glow a steady gold. 

The kid fell to the gravel, gasping, eyes shining, a protective hand protecting Daphne even as he trembled and nearly wretched from the influx of power. 

“Jack!” Sam yelled and gravel crunched behind Dean as he scrambled to Jack’s side and rolled the kid over, shaking his shoulders.

“You know what? I thought I was going to be sad when this story ended. I thought… I used to think this was the greatest story I ever told, because you Winchesters always surprised me. But you know what? I won’t miss you at all. I should have ended this years ago.” Chuck glared, stalking to Sam and drawing his fist back in a haymaker and slugged him without hesitation. 

“Sam!” Dean was on his feet and running, plowing into Chuck—and it felt like running into a concrete wall. Chuck grabbed Dean’s elbow and jerked him up and over his shoulder. In a fleeting head rush, Dean marveled at the feeling of his feet leaving the earth and seeing the sky so far above him rush past in a series of blues and whites. He flipped up and over Chuck, hitting the ground hard and feeling his shoulder crackle a second time before the pain zapped down his spine and his vision darkened. 

Sam crawled to his feet, wiping his mouth, “What sort of ending is this? Huh? An ending that praises the villain?” he demanded, just to get hit again and a gash open up above his eye. He stumbled back up, swaying on his feet. 

“I’m the hero.” Chuck hissed.

“If you hated us so damn much, then why not leave us alone?” Dean ground the words out as if his throat were made of barbed wire. He pushed himself to his feet and confronted Chuck, meeting his eyes. 

“I created you, my last attempt to get your characters right. I thought I could save this story, but it turns out, I should have just killed my darlings.” Chuck backhanded Sam and in the same movement slapped Dean across face. 

Dean shook his head, blinking into the gravel, ears ringing. Shit. Being bitch slapped by God. Didn’t get any lower than that. 

“If you hated the way we ruined your stories, why not just leave? Create another world? Why us? Why this world?” Sam asked, spitting blood.

Chuck flushed along his ears, stepping into Sam and threw a knee into his gut. Sam gagged and fell. 

Dean snarled and struggled back up to his feet. This was the sort of game he knew how to play. Pain was just pain, nothing forty years hell hadn’t prepared him for, and he stumbled at the God. “If we were such pains in your ass, why keep us? Why not move on? Why not focus on new characters?”

“Shut up.” Chuck knocked Dean’s feet out from under him and kicked him in the ribs. He definitely felt something snap this time.

Sam laughed, a sharp yelp of mockery “I figured it out. It’s because we’re his magnum opus. There is nothing left after this. He’s washed up. A hack.”

Chuck yanked Sam around in a circle till he lost his legs and hit his knees, and with a swift jab at his arm, Chuck broke the bone and threw Sam to the ground, “Shut up!” 

Dean laughed, a belly laugh that made his whole body shake and made his shoulder burn white hot in pain. “He’s written the same story over and over again. Same themes, same characters. You’re right.” Dean twisted into the punch to his cheek, feeling his eye swell from the blow, but what he wasn’t expecting was the vicious stomp to his leg that snapped his leg and made it dangle at the wrong angle.   
  
“Stop it!” Chuck shouted, desperate, whiny. 

“He’s unoriginal.”

“A wash up.”

“Predictable.”

“A loser.” Dean hissed right back, and he and Sam stood again, and again, and again. His leg throbbed, he couldn’t see straight, he felt like his ribs were seconds away from puncturing a lung, and his shoulder felt numb. But it didn’t matter, because Dean stood back up, hopping on his good leg, grabbing onto Sam to stay standing with blood trickling down their faces, and they grinned at the flustered God.

“Shut up!” 

“Why pretend like we have choices when all you want to do is lead us into your story and force us to do exactly what you want us to do.”

Chuck shook, mouth moving, and for just a moment, Dean saw that squirrelly, flustered writer he met twelve years ago, so scared of everything, so insecure of himself he clung to any hint of acceptance to prove that he wasn’t just a pathetic hack and not someone to pity. “You’re my favorite characters. I didn’t want it to end.”

“Except we aren’t characters, Chuck. We’re human.” Sam said. 

“We deserve to make our own choices just like everyone else.” 

Chuck shook his head, teeth grinding, stalking forward, and Dean tensed, preparing for the next blow. It came, fast and hard and he spun, falling on his bad leg and crying out, feeling the bone pierce flesh and snag against his jeans. 

“You don’t get it!” Chuck screamed, “I never once controlled how you reacted to the conflicts I put in your path. You have always surprised me, time and again with defying the narrative because of your choices. It’s so frustrating knowing a hundred other versions of Sam and Dean eventually made the same ultimate choice and did what they were destined to do. But you two? You two always went the opposite direction, deciding to zag when every other version zigged. You forced your own story on yourself. Half those trials?” 

Chuck stopped and turned quickly, backhanding the approaching Jack. “Wait your turn! I’ll get to you soon enough.” His scowl coiled his face into something dark and twisted. 

“But you two. Half those trials you went through weren’t even my doing! You created your own problems simply by dodging my narrative. At first, sure, it was exciting. But when it mattered to the story, I never got the ending I wanted. You two fought not only me, but yourselves every step of the way. Why can’t you just do what you are supposed to do? Why is this the world where all my characters fight so hard against what I want?”

Dean pushed himself up, head spinning from blood loss and probably a concussion. He nodded to Jack, a half smile touching his face, and Dean focused back on Chuck, meeting his eyes, watching God himself tremble before them. He felt Sammy grab his elbow to keep him from swaying and Dean stood tall with his brother, a smirk crawling over his face. “Because, we’re Team Free Will, you stupid son of a bitch.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed, lifting a hand, fingers curling to snap, and Jack stepped between them both and grabbed Chuck’s head. Chuck opened his mouth, then moaned, his eyes glowing gold till it crackled along Chuck’s skin like lightning strikes of racing up Jacks hands and arms, spreading across his neck and face till his eyes began to glow, burning with a fire that blinded, and Chuck began to dim. Energy swirled, gathering speed, becoming a tornado of power circling the two. The energy hummed and whispered with the speed, and with a thrum, it silenced before it exploded, throwing Jack and Chuck apart, and Dean found himself on his back, gagging for air. 

“What…” Chuck sat up, staring at his hands, face slack, mouth open. His head jerked up and Dean saw Jack rise, smooth and even, looking so young but powerful with his straight back and soft face. It took Chuck a moment, but his scream made the sky crack open and lightning rain down. “What have you done to me?” 

Jack lifted his arms with Light glowing around him, ringing the area in power. Though the storm clouds swirled and lightning struck the ground, and the storm grew ever larger, a central clear patch above kept the sky blue bright creating an eye of the storm—an Eye of God. 

Chuck laughed, bitter, manic, his eyes growing dark, “If you want to play it that way.” Chuck stepped forward, stomping the ground, and from his feet burst forth columns of Darkness, the same as what Dean witnessed when Amara first awoke years ago. The sky darkened, the world faded into a swirl of black, snapping energy, closing in on them little by little, the lightning strikes growing closer. 

“Jack!” Dean roared over the storm, hands raised against the wind, trying to see the boy, needing to see him fight. 

Jack threw him a half smile, then winked.

He just fucking got winked at. 

With one hand holding the storm at bay, Jack held forth his other hand, fingers pressing together, and he snapped. 

  
//

  
Castiel gasped for air as the Empty released him, dropping him in the ‘floor’ of the nothingness and the Empty jerked around, facing the crowd of huddled angels, its gaze darting about, turning in a circle to look past the cluster of demons leering and pacing like caged beasts on the outskirts, and the Empty turned back to him, its eyes wide and hands shaking. 

“He has no right. We had a deal. God swore…”

Castial coughed, glaring at the Empty from under his lashes. “I think ‘God’ is under new management.” And the nothingness around them rumbled, trembling, popping with noise and lights, a roar rising around them like a hurricane descending upon them.

The Empty grabbed his collar, yanking him close. “Doesn’t matter. Even if I lose all of them. You won’t be walking out of here.”

Castiel smiled and looked past the Empty, over its shoulder and watching a rift rip open, a quivering golden tear in reality. “That’s fine. So long as my brothers and sisters understand that God is calling them home to war.” 

And the huddled angels heard him. He knew they would, for this nothingness around them looked vast and empty, but whispers sounded as if spoken against an ear, and shouts startled as if plasted by a car horn. The angels looked to him, Balthazar, Hanna, Gadriel, and Samandriel… Gabriel and Raphael, Urial and Ezekial. Micah and Esther… He knew them all. He looked to his brothers and sisters and smiled, “I can feel it, God has returned, and he needs his warriors.” 

A few angels hesitated, the ones who mistrusted him, the ones who were never very good at thinking for themselves; one last pop and Michael appeared, dropping to the ground in a crowd and a spray of feathers, he rose one more before them as their general. “God is calling us home. To battle!” And the angels surged froward. 

Castiel saw Gabriel salute him, like a soldier being forced to leave a dying comrade on the battlefield before he leapt through the rift with a smirk and final wave. Angel’s poured into the rift—as did several demons, sneaking through in the chaos.

The Empty cried out, reaching for them, black oily tendrils wrapping around several angels, pulling them back toward it, putting them to sleep, just to have those popcorn pops of light awaken them immediately as the Empty itself trembled from God’s cry. For every angel the Empty claimed, another hundred escaped. At the rift’s opening stood Michael, barking orders, pushing angels through, and when the last Angel stepped through, Michael looked back to him, head held high, and he nodded. “He’s amazing, brother, thanks to you.” Castiel returned the gesture, a form of pride welling up in his chest. 

The Empty screamed and flung a hand toward Michael, the inky black oil racing to grab him. With a grunt flinging himself forward, Castiel wrapped his arms around the Empty and jerked it to the side, startling the entity and pulling its arms ups short just before they reached Michael so his brother could escape by stepping through the rift. The doorway to earth crackled and trembled, an escape hatch Castiel desperately wanted to use, to flee this misery, to return home, to return to…

The rift lingering for ten agonizing heartbeats before it closed with a pop, and Castiel closed his eyes.

The Empty threw him to the ground and straddled his chest, its hands on his face, its eyes wide and manic. “Why? Why would you do this?”

Castiel gripped the Empty’s wrists, struggling to pull them away from his jaw. “Because, Jack needs them.”

  
//

  
Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, the two huddled together as the storm grew and the lightning was getting so close Dean felt like he was going to be missing an eyebrow any second. 

Chuck moved slowly forward, fighting against the Light Jack emitted, filling the ever shrinking space in the center with as much of his golden power as possible. Jack winced, stumbling back a step, both hands up now, pushing back against the Darkness as Chuck gained another inch. 

“Trying to beat me at my own game? I’ve seen it all! I’ve written it all! You won’t win because this is my story! This is my ending! You’ll fight, and you may even get in a few hits, make me question if I have the strength to fight against a younger and more powerful being. But I’ve got eons on my side and this story will end with my fighting till the end and outsmarting you.” He stomped a foot down and Darkness surged around his shoe and battered the aura of Light. 

Jack grunted and held his ground. 

Dean tugged on Sam’s arm, army crawling across the gravel, groaning from the pain in his leg, his arm, and spots of black flashing in front of his eyes. But Dean crawled, teeth clenched and a fire in his belly. Sam at his side, his broken arm dangling awkwardly at his side. He kept his eyes on Jack, squinting past the dirt and debris swirling around them. Dean dragged himself to Jack and reached for him, gripping his pant leg. “Kick it in the ass, kid!”

Jack smiled then, the furrow between his eyes easing though he never looked away from Chuck. “Don’t worry. The cavalry is here.”

The sky cracked, scattering the Darkness in all directions, and from the rift, a golden, trembling rip in the sky, out fell the angels. Michael leading the charge with Gabriel and Hanna at his sides. With Anna, Uriel, and even Raphael, leading garrisons of angels in their wake in that brilliant blue and white light that was purely angelic. They easily passed through the golden Light of Jack, and Michael stood at the right hand of Jack, Gabriel at his left, and thousands upon thousands of angels stood or hovered in the air on invisible wings with looks ranging from determination, confusion, horror, and agony; yet none moved towards Chuck as the Darkness roiled around him. 

“Well would you look at that.” Gabriel clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Didn’t think dear old Dad would have a mid-life millennium crisis like this. Kinda sad really.” Gabriel then squatted down and grinned, “Hey Dean-o! Samsquatch. You two look a little rough. Bad day?”

“Did he have to bring you back?” Dean grumbled, but his eyes kept searching, desperate for a sign of a tan overcoat. 

Chuck shouted behind them, and the Darkness rolled back in, lightning zapping a few angels out of the air, their bodies dropping hollow and burnt.

Gabriel patted his cheek. “We’ll catch up in a minute. Promise.” He winked, and with snap, Dean felt his body tingle and the pain was gone, his head clear, and his leg no longer hurt. Glancing at Sam and seeing his injuries gone, Dean pushed himself to his feet in the midst of angels.

“Uncle Michael? Would you please help me seal the Darkness?” Jack looked to his uncle, that sweet smile on his face. 

Michael smirked and bowed his head, “Of course, kid. Whatever my Lord God commands of me.” He stepped forward, walking out to the center of the battlefield, trailing a handful of loyal angels behind him. Michael paused just long enough to pick up the archangel blade and raise it to the sky. Though Dean couldn’t see it with his physical eyes, he knew, looking out at the angels going to war, their wings were stretched wide and their eyes glowing with power. Then they charged. 

Dean and Sam ducked, seeing the shock wave before it hit. Jack stepped forward, pushing the Light out in front of him in pulsing waves, joining his angels in battle, beating against the writhing tendrils of Darkness that Chuck flung at him like he was in a snowball fight. 

Squinting into the wind, Dean watched Jack walk away, white jacket flapping, hair swept back, eyes golden. Though he was a mere child, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like for parents when they realized their child was all grown up. 

The angels mobbed Chuck, circling him, sweeping down with angel blades drawn, and Chuck responded back with thick coils of Darkness wrapping around them, lightning strikes cracking within the thick mist, and with snaps of his fingers, angel’s died in flashes of light. But little by little, Chuck’s face shifted to panic. That writer from long ago returned, fumbling to try and gain the upper hand, shaking his head, talking to himself, shouting when first one angel and then another snatched up his arms and Michael closed in with a blade to his throat and fisting his hair back.

Dean met Chuck’s eyes, jaw tight, hands curling into fists, and he smirked, spreading his arms wide, because what did Chuck expect; a good distraction was always better battle strategy than a full frontal assault.

“No… No! This isn’t how it’s supposed to end!”

“It’s not an ending, its just a new beginning.” Jack said, and waved his hand, opening the earth, and his angels fell down into it, dragging Chuck down with them, his cries fading into the earth.

The Darkness roiled and then stilled, hanging in the air, frozen, before it began to drift down to the earth like fog, seeping down into the crevices and cracks in wispy tendrils of smoke. The wind calmed, the sky turning blue once again, and Dean could once again feel the light of the sun on his face.

Another cry, a wail, from the pit, and angels flew out of the of the earth, and the entrance to Darkness’ cage closed behind them with a clench of Jack’s hand. 

The angels landed, before him, staring with questioning eyes and yet seeing the Godliness that Jack possessed. Michael stepped forward and dropped to a knee, head bowed, “It is done, my Lord.” and as if in slow motion in a roiling wave, all the angels took a knee and bowed their heads to God. 

Jack tilted his head at the gesture, his brows furrowed. “Thank you, Uncle Michael.” He said before he shrugged and turned around and faced Dean and Sam, his smile honest and far too innocent for what just happened. “Did I do it? Did I “kick it” in the “ass?”” he asked with air quotes.

Dean laughed, gasping in a breath, his heart still pounding. 

Sam nodded, a grin growing across his face. 

“I’ll say. You did that and more, in spades.” Dean strode across the battlefield and he wrapped Jack up in his arms, holding him close, and feeling Sam come up on his other side and wrap them both up in his own bear hug. 

“You did great, Jack.”

“Cass was right.” Dean whispered, and he pulled away, patting Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack’s eyes lowered and his smile fell, “I couldn’t bring him back.”

Dean’s smile fell, his heart clenching tight. He bowed his head, gripping Jack’s shoulder and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“The Empty held on too tightly to him.” Michael said, rising to stand at Jack’s side. 

Dean swallowed down the pain, hating how he was becoming such a pro at it. 

“Welp, no use crying over spilled Cass.” Gabriel threw his arm around Michael’s shoulders, leaning in and smacking a kiss against his brother’s cheek. “And I take it back, big bro. You aren’t nearly as big of a prick as I remember!” he grinned, lopsided and pleased with himself. 

Michael sighed but didn’t shrug his arm away, almost begrudgingly soaking in the closeness of family. 

Gabriel beamed, “And you, nephew, I can’t wait to teach you—” 

“There will be no corrupting of the new God.” Sam snapped and Gabriel turned his sights on Sam. 

“I was going to say, I can’t wait to teach him how to get this world back up and running. Because once the electricity is back on, you’d be shocked to see how many back doors are just left wide open for anyone stupid enough to walk right on in.” Gabriel said, and he shot a wink at Dean. 

Jack smiled, then jumped, “Oh, Daphne!” he pulled his pocket open and peeked inside, drawing the little chick out. She trembled and cheeped one or twice, and Jack cooed to her, stroking her head and back, his shoulders relaxing as she shook herself and her little cheeps starting up like a squeaky toy, as if having just survived a God Battle Royal was not nearly as impressive as getting her next meal. Jack hummed to her, satisfied she was alright. His smile fell, looking small an sad, but resolved. He slipped Daphne back into his pocket, he gazed up at Sam and Dean, looking a little too young to be God. “We should go. I think I know how to reverse what Chuck did.”

They drove back to town, the angels following, hovering close, watching Jack, reaching out to touch his shoulders, looks of awe spreading across so many of their face. Dean vaguely remembered Anna telling him a decade ago that up to that point, there were only four angels in existence who had seen God’s face. Now, all saw him. 

Jack closed his eyes and raised his hand, focusing, thinking, and then snapped his fingers. 

It was slow, like the first tentative beats from a heart monitor. First one and then another as wispy shadows appeared, curling into reality till people appeared all around them and continuing their day as if nothing had ever happened. Dean looked around the town, listening to the sounds of the world, hearing birds again, cars, laughter, a dog’s bark and the clatter of plates as a waiter dropped a bucket of dishes on the ground and the manager’s shout of dismay. Dean soaked in the sounds of the world and held onto them for just a moment longer. 

Jack smiled, nodding, Daphne chirping where she perched in his pocket. 

“You did good, kid.” Dean smiled, and Jack beamed, puffing up at the compliment. 

“Let’s go home.”

Jack’s face fell, and he sighed, looking down. “I’m not going.”

“What?” Sam moved closer, brow furrowing.

“I realize now what Chuck’s problem was; he tricked people into thinking there was free will, when really he controlled everything from behind a curtain. I don’t want to be that. I want to give humans every opportunity to make their own choices, and yet, humans need hope. They need what faith brings them, and they need to know that if they ask, they aren’t alone in the universe. Good things can happen.” He smiled, straightening up, and he looked to the angels all around them, invisible to the rest of the populace. “I want heaven and the angels to be what they should have been from the beginning. Warriors of God who protect the humans in their charge. The angels should never force obedience or loyalty, but they can bless humanity for their faith no matter how small. Humans deserve the right to make mistakes. It’s how they learn and grow, it’s how their divine sparks grow within them. They are miniature gods, after all. Therefore, it is an angel’s duty to love humanity and give them hope and inspiration through granting small blessings.”

“You handing out homework already?” Gabriel groaned. 

Jack frowned, tilting his head very Cass-like. “Perhaps. But we’ll work on it.”

Gabrial grinned, wrapping his arm around Jack’s shoulders and tugging the kid against his side. “Cool idea, kid, but not everyone is suited to grunt work.”

“No, but I think I have a job for you too.” Jack stepped back and looked first to Gabriel then to Michael, amusement in his eyes. “Uncle Michael, Uncle Gabriel? Will you travel with me when I leave to create new worlds? I think I have a few stories I want to start, and then watch to see how each new world expands it.”

Michael’s eyes were soft, “I would be honored.”

“You seriously want my input? You know I’ll suggest stupid shit like a Willy Wonka world, or a world of strippers, right?” Gabriel pointed at himself. 

“Perhaps, but that’s why I need you. You’ll remind me of the perfection in the imperfect.”

Gabriel laughed, “All right. But it’s your funeral. So I was thinking…” he waved his hand across the sky as if describing a night out at Vegas. “A world entirely of ultraviolet creatures.”

“Why?” 

“Why not?” He grinned. 

Dean’s chest tightened, throat bobbing as he Jack looked back at them. He didn’t know if he could say goodbye. Jack was theirs. It was too soon to see him go, too.

“Sam, Dean?” Jack tilted his head, gazing up at them with so much earnest need that Dean knew he was going to miss that face. “I’ll never be far away. I’ll always listen when you pray, even if I don’t always answer.”

“Will you come back?” Sam asked, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“I will. But I may not come when you call. The angels… well, I’ll need to restructure heaven, fix the gates if I can, and I’ll tell them to listen, but they won’t answer your calls like how they used too; that job belongs to someone else.”

Dean swallowed hard, heart pattering against his ribs. “Can you bring him back?”

Jack shook his head, frown deepening. “The Empty’s claim on him is powerful, and seeing how I broke out all the angels from the Empty, I don’t think it will be happy with me. But… I have faith you’ll figure out how to bring Cass home.” He smiled, and Dean’s throat closed up. 

With a sigh, Jack lifted a hand in farewell, Daphne cheeping at his side. “Goodbye Sam. Goodbye Dean. I’ll see you around.” He turned then, walking away, a hint of golden light surrounding him even as he faded from sight, the angels following after him, taking flight and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Michael clapped Dean’s shoulder as he walked by, nodding his head, “Have faith.” He whispered, and that was it, the final goodbye. They stood beside the Impala on the bustling street, people once more in the world around them, and Dean didn’t know if today was a victory or a loss because he felt utterly alone.

Inhaling slowly, and swallowing the lump in his throat down, Dean coughed and turned, tugging his keys from his pocket. “Well, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.” 

Sam’s eyes met his over the roof of the Impala, hope shining there.

“I need to meet my future sister-in-law and give her a welcome home hug.”

Sam smiled, emotions welling up already and he slid into the front seat without argument. 

Dean supposed, today could be considered a victory. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he had work to do.

  
//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kill meeeeee~ I was right. I woke up, regretted posting stuff... but now i"m deditated and it's 4am and I'm finished up this chapter because I didn't start writing it till 9pm... I'm a moron. sigh... but i'm dedicated now. There's also a part of me that just wants to see if I can CRANK OUT this idea before Thursday..... evening... at the latest... eeeh... yeah. anyway.
> 
> The longer I've worked on this, trying to essentially write in what 15x19 was lacking, but then adding an actual boss fight at the end... it really is just setting up out impossible a plot season 15 was because there was no way to win. The Winchesters were screwed and would have lost no matter what... thus the deau ex machina of Jack absorbing the energy. I'm not against that idea (thus why I included it in this... i just wanted to see how I could rewrite it so it made more sense and made it more fun) but again... this whole setup was doomed from the start. 19 was a failed episode before the writing even happened. .........
> 
> anyway. Here's this pile of goo I wrote. sorry i sucks. but I at least got down the gist of what I wanted to write as having an ACTUAL fight... (but again... still a fail because the Winchesters themselves are useless other than distractions. that's how failed this season finale was from the start.. there was just no hope of salvaging it.)
> 
> Next will be what we all are hoping for... and how I think at east one portion should go to parallel a certain relationship and finally prove to one another what this means to them. Wish me luck. Hopefully that one will be easier to write and to read as well.
> 
> Throw me a kudo or a comment if you like... I do enjoy them so. thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this as chapter 2 of Eternal, but after I got to the 3rd chapter, I realized this needed to be its own set aside story and make this a collection of episodic pieces.


End file.
